not another teen fanfic
by MistressPear
Summary: A loverly story, if I do say so myself.
1. Humble Beginnings

_Disclaimer: There is no disclaimer! Harry Potter is really my invention and Mrs. Rowling stole it from us! So Bring It On! WHAT NOW?_

_A/N: This being my first ever please send all flames to yo mama. Thank you._

_T rated because't' is the prettiest letter in the alphabet._

Chapter 1: Humble Beginnings

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Never had there ever been a more likely candidate for Hogwarts than Melinda Brothrael. She had long, blonde hair, luscious ruby-red lips, rosy cheeks, a slim figure, and was wearing a white tank top with a black bra.

She wasn't from a magical family but could do magic really well, but, like, on accident. This one time, she turned her brother into a newt. He got better.

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Before Albus Dumbledore was a scroll with a long list of names. Most of the names had stars next to them, denoting the 'magicality' of the potential student. Melinda Brothrael's name had a great many stars next to it, especially for someone who had been unexposed to magic her entire life (oh wait, she had been to a David Copperfield show once!-but that doesn't count.).

However, Albus Dumbledore was fast asleep, not looking at Melinda's star count as he should have been. With minutes to go until the letters of invitation to Hogwarts were to be sent out, Albus gave a start as his phoenix gave a loud squawk and regurgitated a pellet of vole bones.

"Great tiddlywinks!" yelped Albus, glancing at his clock. He scrambled to find a time-turner in his unkempt desk. However, he instead found a Chinese finger trap which kept him occupied for the rest of time he had allotted to finding said time-turner.

He then had to hurriedly decide whom to invite to Hogwarts by a hasty game of Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe. Which is how Melinda was not chosen, and our main character was. Because honestly, as great as Melinda is, she doesn't have much interesting material left, now that fate has destined her to be a fry cook or something.

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"MAIL!" bellowed a masculine voice from downstairs. Gravis paid it no attention as she was entirely devoted to locating the friend of the shoe she was frantically waving about; as if that would make its mate cry "I'm over here". It was eventually located by her dad in the refrigerator, next to the cabbage and behind the sour cream, but by that time, she had missed her bus.

_A/N: At this point I went into the kitchen to get a diet coke. However, my dad was watching Saving Private Ryan, and someone was dying, and I felt queasy and forgot where this bus was going to._

So Gravis decided to open her mail. She had been…pre-approved for a credit card! She stuffed the "time sensitive" document back into its envelope and tossed it in the recycling bin.

She had just poured herself an overflowing bowl of Fruity Pebbles and drowned it in milk, when she realized her sister, Jillian, was opening a more important looking letter than the one she had received. Gravis, hence, did what she was obliged to do as an older sister, she snatched it from her.

Jillian attempted to retrieve her letter by leaning across the table and snatching it back, but she only managed to trail her sleeve in Gravis' Fruity Pebbles. So she punched Gravis in the nose, stole the letter back, dashed from the kitchen, and locked herself in the bathroom. With Gravis howling and pounding on the door, she opened her letter, and began to read.

_Dear Ms. Jillian Dodaster,_

_We are pleased to inform you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Due to an unforeseen ink shortage, however, we are unable to complete the usual formal letter sent, and instead implore you to just guess at what you might need and what not to bring. The train departs from King's Cross, Platform 9 ¾, 9:05, on Sept. 1st. _

_Yours Truly,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

Jillian stared, dumbfounded, at the opposite wall. She couldn't be a witch. There was no such thing. Or was there? She was unresponsive for several hours. This made her sister and father very upset, because they had to ask the weird cat lady across the hall if they could use her bathroom, which smelt of litter boxes and sauerkraut.

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_A/N: OK, there it is. I have my soul bared, ready for you to take a jab at it. And sorry about the letter, but I didn't really feel like digging out my book and copying it verbatim. Diet Coke and Fruity pebbles are probably copyrighted by someone, but I don't feel like telling you who. So, review, or not. The choice is yours. _

_P.S. I'm writing more even if you do flame me. I'm becoming rather fond of my story._


	2. For Lack of a Better Chapter Title

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews people of the world. _

_Disclaimer: Do I have to write one of these every chapter? They're getting boring. So yeah, whatever, Harry Potter doesn't blah blah blah why are you even reading this? skip to the story like all the normal people. Got a problem with that? I recommend arsenic._

Chapter 2

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Previously- Our young friend Jillian was hogging the bathroom.

Jillian was still in a vegetative state when the firemen arrived.

"Looks like we're going to have to break down the door. Hope you have pretty comprehensive home owner's insurance."

Jillian heard her father raise some weak protests, then found herself with an axe head quivering an inch from her nose and the remaining two thirds of what had once been her bathroom door swinging open to reveal two burly firemen.

"She looks alright to me." One of the firemen poked her with the butt of his axe. "Looks like our job here is done. Kitten Rescuing and Other Menial Stuff People Call 911 For Task Force awayyyyyyyyy!" And the two ran out the front door.

Jillian gaped at her father. Her father gaped at the envelope in her hand. The envelope just sat there, but was secretly afraid it was going to be snatched again.

"Dad, you know what witches are?" Her father nodded grimly. "Well, I think I am one."

Her dad stooped to her level. "Let's move to the kitchen. This bathroom is a bit cramped." Jillian thought he was taking it rather well.

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Gravis had burst out into squelching sobs. Her father was trying to comfort her best he could, but, being a male and therefore lacking the ability to convey even a façade of sympathy, kept proffering her tissues and asking her if she terribly minded him turning the game on.

Jillian was haphazardly tossing the clean contents of her closet into a large duffel bag. She had packed thirteen pairs of underwear, twenty-two shirts, a pair of blue jeans, and a too-small Halloween belly-dancer costume when she heard her dad call.

She bounded down the hall, passing Gravis on the way.

"Witch," sneered Gravis through her tears.

"Squib!" teased Jillian, and stuck out her tongue. She decided she liked the word 'squib' very much; it had a nice, bouncy ring to it.

Her dad was already bundled into the family car, and tuning the radio to a classical station.

"Tell me more about mum," Jillian asked, trying to solicit for more information from her reluctant father as she slid into the passengers seat.

He shifted his weight uncomfortably, not liking to be reminded of the woman who had left him for a vampire. Even if fangs were what did it for her, she shouldn't have left them like that. He could have filed his teeth to points or something.

"Er…average build, Sagittarius, passionate badminton player…what would you like to know?" He released the parking break and started to drive down the street.

"Tell me about magic."

"I don't honestly know that much about it. But I was told to give this to you girls though, if you or Gravis was accepted into a magicking-type school." He held out a battered package wrapped in peeling flowered wrapping paper. "She said it would answer all your questions."

"Dad. This is a can of Spam. Surely, the miracle meat in a can cannot actually be the answer to all my questions." She chucked the low-sodium luncheon meat into the backseat. They sat in silence for a while.

"I think we're here," said her father, parking in front of a record store. "The Leaky Cauldron."

_A/N: OK, yes, even less happened in this chapter. But if you look at the Harry Potter books, interesting things don't start to happen until quite a few chapters into them. So Bite Me, ever-loving action seeker. And the Spam, I promise, has some significance later on- her mum is not just some dodgy loon (unlike me)._

_Spam is owned by Hormel foods. _


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